


rosemary, sage and catmint

by aohatsu



Category: Marvel 616, X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, Dubious Consent, F/F, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Rule 63, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:14:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25719412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aohatsu/pseuds/aohatsu
Summary: Well, at least there are no ghosts come to haunt Petra and her sister. Their so-called seance had produced nothing more than two racing hearts and a rather startlingly ill-mannered black cat.
Relationships: Felicia Hardy/Peter Maximoff
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6
Collections: The Prince Regent's Birthday Regency/Victorian Flash Exchange





	rosemary, sage and catmint

**Author's Note:**

  * For [VampirePaladin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VampirePaladin/gifts).



> It always seems to be OOC when I try to write an AU. Sorry!
> 
> I hope you like this anyway. :*

Petra screams as loud as a banshee when a black cat jumps onto the table. She jumps up, nearly knocking over her chair and instinctively grabs her sister, digging her nails into Wanda's dress sleeve to pull her back. After a moment, when Wanda has clutched back at her, Petra groans and hides her face into Wanda's shoulder. Her heart is racing as quickly as a steam train.

"Did you plan that?" she asks, finally, once her heart has calmed back down from it's galloping pace.

Wanda laughs and says, "No, and I don't think I've ever heard you scream quite so loudly."

Petra shakes her head, letting go of her sister who takes the opportunity to smooth out her ruby red skirts. Petra places a hand over her own white shirt, just below her blue cravat, right over her heart. It's still pounding like a drum, racing as fast as a well-bred horse.

She looks back at the table. The cat, the one that caused all this chaos, is still sitting there in the middle of the table and is, in fact, staring at Petra with big, green eyes. Smoothly, it lifts a paw and gently licks at its paw, looking away from Petra and her twin as if comfortable ignoring the two of them entirely. It's just sitting there on top of the seance board that Wanda had _insisted_ they buy from that little out-of-the-way shop of horrors in the city last month so that they might "commune with the departed". The crystal orb that had lain atop the table in a pile of collected velvet fabric has rolled off and onto the floor with a solid thunk.

The collection of rosemary, sage and catmint set around amidst the candles on the table don't seem to have been disturbed, which is only too lucky. Their father would either kill them or beat them if they'd allowed a cat to set the manor on fire whilst he was away on one of his long, sordid business trips. Not that Petra would particularly mind the need to run away before he got back. She misses when it had been just her and Wanda sometimes, though they'd struggled on the street and Petra had had to work at the docks, disguised as a man, while Wanda ripped her fingers open as a seamstress day-after-day just so that they'd have enough food to survive. Their father might be a bastard with a temper who had left their mother before they'd even been born, but he'd found them and provided them this place to live at least. And in truth, neither Petra nor Wanda would ever be able to leave Lorna behind now that they knew her, and Petra couldn't relegate Lorna to the sort of life one lived on the streets--she'd had a hard enough time keeping just Wanda safe.

(She'd once, at thirteen, punched a man twice her size in the face for trying to drag Wanda down a side alley. She'd grabbed Wanda and run as fast as she could, blood still dripping down her knuckles.)

Of course, Wanda would no doubt claim she had been the one keeping Petra safe.

Well, at least there are no ghosts come to haunt Petra and her sister. Their so-called seance had produced nothing more than two racing hearts and a rather startlingly ill-mannered black cat.

Stepping away from Wanda, Petra adjusts her trousers at the waist and sticks her fingers in her pockets, all but the thumbs.

"Oh, come now, Petra. It's just a cat. Cats are the familiars of witches, you know. Black cats are said to be especially well-connected with that which is beyond mortals," Wanda says, primly, and then smiles wickedly. "Truly, I've never heard you scream so loudly. You could have won a competition--the loudest lady in all of England, imagine it."

"Ha-bloody-ha," Petra answers, and then, as quickly as she can--which is quite quick, for if she's winning any competitions it will be this year's annual village run during the Harvest festival, with or without Quicksilver in her saddle--she snatches the cat up off the table.

"One of the maids must have left open a window somewhere," Wanda surmises. They don't keep cats, except for a few that reside in the barn to chase the bold little mice that try to sneak into the kitchen when no one is looking.

Now that her heart has returned to normal, Petra can acknowledge that the cat is really quite pretty. 

She--for Petra is sure that it is a female she's holding--is a warm, soft creature with fur like satin or silk. She has delicate white tufts of fur along her four ankles and around the neck. Her ears are pointed, and her body is smooth and sleek and feels powerful beneath Petra's hands, well-fed. She's quite well-behaved now, as well, though she'll have to learn quickly that animals are not to get on the tables or other furniture.

She smiles at the beast when it lets out a rumbling purr beneath her hands, seeming completely at ease with being in Petra's arms.

Wanda looks bemused, and says, "You can't just keep it," as she starts to clear away the magical objects left out on the table, such as the seance board and candles, as well as all the herbs and powders and fabrics. 

Petra honestly doesn't know why she constantly allows her sister to draw her into things like this, but Wanda insists and Petra always gives in. Lorna would enjoy it much more--mayhap soon she will be old enough to join without having nightmares afterward. It was all for the love of a sister, she supposes.

"Father will never notice," Petra says, "and besides, Lorna will love her." It's true. Their youngest sister will adore having a cat to play with. If it weren't so late and Lorna already asleep upstairs, Petra would introduce them right then and there. 

Wanda smiles and says, "Alright, but I won't be taking the blame when you get in trouble. Again. You'll never find a husband like this, dressing in trousers and being so contrary. Perhaps you'll have to settle for a cat."

Petra rolls her eyes and lets out an unladylike snort before saying, "That's quite the point, thank you for illuminating it for me." A husband, indeed, as if Wanda herself is any more in a hurry for such a thing. Petra is determined never to be forced into such a farce, nor to see her sisters ever married to men unworthy of them.

Which is, in truth, all men, for none could possibly be good enough for her sisters.

With that, she bids her twin a good night, and goes up the stairs, cat still held in her arms.

She slips down the long hall and into her room. She sets the cat down on the floor before she begins to undress and ready herself for bed. Eerily, the cat seems to be watching her as she undresses, but, well, it is just a cat. There's hardly anything scandalous about a cat seeing your naked body, now is there? Though, animals don't usually stare at you either.

Still, she drops her shirt to the floor and unlaces the truly awful brassiere she's forced to wear to escape Wanda's lectures on propriety and Father's angry fists that seem to come out whenever he catches her scoffing at, well, propriety. At least Wanda only lectures because she worries Petra will not survive father's next angry outburst. He's off to the city now, thankfully, and should be gone for several months with any luck. Perhaps his carriage will even come to some unfortunate mishap on the road and he never make it home at all. 

"What a pity that would be," she mutters, and wiggles to slide her trousers down her thighs after kicking off her boots. Fully naked now, she stretches in the privacy of her own rooms, reaching her arms toward the ceiling and stepping on nothing but the very tips of her toes for a long moment. 

She'll take a run with Quicksilver in the early hours of the next day, she decides. She wants the burn in her calves and thighs and the stretch in her back and abdomen and shoulders. It will be positively lovely to get some exercise. Perhaps she can even persuade Wanda and Lorna to come along after she's finished with the more strenuous bout of riding.

She settles into the armchair, legs drawn up to her chest, next to the fireplace where a maid had been instructed to start it so as to warm the room a little less than an hour ago. The fire is warm, light flickering and casting shadows through the room. She closes her eyes to relax for just a moment next to the heat and crackling sound of the fire.

She startles when, suddenly, the cat jumps back up onto her lap, settling as if she belongs there, right between Petra's stomach and thighs.

"And what, Miss Cat, do you think you are doing?" she asks the cat, running a hand through soft black fur. She rubs delicately between the cat's ears. The cat reaches up with her paws, back stretching, and begins to knead Petra's skin just below her left breast. Her claws sink sharply into Petra's bare skin and she gasps with the sharp, sudden pain, and grabs the cat's paws gently to remove them from her skin.

"You must learn to behave," she chides the cat, and then laughs at herself. "Oh, but if I could follow my own advice. Not, in truth, that I wish to behave at all."

She looks at the cat's eyes, green and bright, as the fire casts shadow and light against them both.

"Well," she says, "you really are a rather handsome cat. Or would you prefer beautiful?"

The cat seems to preen under her hands with either descriptor, and Petra eventually stands, holding the animal close to her naked chest as she goes to climb into bed. She's tired, after all, and plans to wake early for her ride with Quicksilver.

She means to put the cat back on the ground, but instead settles with the creature curled right up against her chest and below her chin.

Petra wakes some time later in the night.

It takes her a moment to realize why.

There is a naked woman lying against her, a warm, thick thigh sliding between her own, and a soft hand with sharp nails tracing up her back and over her spine.

Alarmed, Petra jerks backwards with a yell, lurching for something to defend herself against this--this intruder. She grabs a pillow, as if that will manage to do anything against this--this woman... this woman who is completely naked, utterly beautiful and watching Petra with nothing more than hunger in her soft green eyes.

Scrambling backward did no good when she'd stopped halfway from getting off the bed though, and the woman crawls towards her on hands and knees, a prowling smile on her face. Then, without warning--or perhaps there were warnings a plenty--Petra finds her mouth covered by another.

She moans, her body suddenly alight with heat, burning up her every limb and setting deep in her gut as no small amount of aroused desire and need. Her hand comes up to fist tightly in the woman's hair, begging with her body for more. The woman pulls back a moment later, teeth shining in the dark. Petra finds herself leaning in after her, desperate to follow.

She wants to climb on top of this woman and rut against her, find the pressure and the friction that she sorely wants between her thighs in this moment. She wants to put her mouth on that pale throat and rub her fingers over the woman's heavy, soft breasts. Long, white hair cascades over her shoulders, soft like satin or silk. Petra has never seen someone else born with hair the color of her own, and she finds herself desperately wanting to run her fingers through it.

The woman's lips, quirked up in that dangerous smile, have been painted red, nearly as sinful as the miles of pale, milk-white skin that she's flaunting for Petra to see and gaze upon. Petra is nothing more than a fly caught in a spider's web in this moment--or perhaps a mouse caught between a cat's paws, with just enough space to try and run only to be snatched up and played with again, over and over and over.

The curve of her breasts, the soft give in her thighs, the clear muscles and strength in her abdomen, leaves Petra's own stomach tensing with desire. What in the world is going on? To wake with a naked stranger, and to simply want her? To want her as though the world is ending, as if this sole desire is the last thing on Earth she could ever want or need?

Petra must be having some sort of a fit, or perhaps some sort of a wonderful dream. That, or Wanda's magic has gone terribly, deeply wrong, and they've somehow invited a demon into their home.

If it is a demon, Petra is not sure she would say no, not even if it asked for her very soul, not so long as she was allowed to taste those red lips again, trace her sharp teeth with her tongue as if that's the singular purpose that tongues and teeth and mouths were made for--for kissing, devouring, loving through utter debauchery and sin.

"Who are you?" she asks, and the woman laughs, quiet and smooth like a song.

"I was looking for a witch," the woman says, "and your sister seemed a likely one." Her eyes glint in the dark. "But you," she says, voice breathless as she reaches up a hand with long, sharp nails to gently caress Petra's cheek, "you are terribly distracting. I've decided I want you, that I will have you. And I, well. I always get what I want."

Petra swallows, her heart quickening in her chest. She clutches at it, her hand resting over her breasts, so small compared to this woman's. So--delicate. She feels breakable, and like she wouldn't mind being broken.

Somehow, despite not knowing this woman at all, she knows that she must be speaking the truth.

She always gets what she wants.

Who, after all, would have the constitution or sheer force of will to tell her no? 

"Lie back," the woman says, pushing delicately at Petra's neck until Petra lies back amidst the pillows and sheets of her own bed, "and let me have you."

Petra hardly has control of her own body. She lays back, her chest heaving as she breathes through anticipation and arousal. She squeezes her thighs together, needing the pressure.

The woman's soft mouth attaches to her shoulder, tongue sliding against her skin, teeth grazing just enough to be nothing more than the tease of a bite. She moans, a wanton, graceless sound that fills the room. A hand slides up Petra's side and goosebumps pepper her skin, evidence of how desperately she wants that touch on her body. "Mm," the woman hums, "beautiful. What a good pet you'll make."

"What?" Petra asks, the word coming out as a gasp as sharp nails and soft fingers cup her breast, thumb slipping over the nipple roughly. She grasps at the woman's shoulders, hanging on for purchase as her body begins to fall.

"Humans are so odd, thinking that they can keep a cat as a pet," the woman says, and her eyes seem to flash with something inhuman for a bare instant in the dark. The danger of it sends a shudder through Petra's very core and she feels the wetness of her cunt soaking down her thighs. She is--she is as desperate now as one of the whores at the brothel in the village pretend they are, beckoning to men and even some women as they pass by, offering themselves up for coin and customer.

Only Petra is offering her body up for free, for nothing more than the way it makes her feel to be touched like this.

The woman leans in, and whispers against Petra's ear, "It's quite the other way around," the words playful and dark.

Petra's breath catches: what is she saying? Is she saying--she's the cat?

Petra can't ask anything else; she overwhelmed by the soft heat of a mouth on her neck, of fingers slipping between her thighs. The slight pain from the woman's sharp nails is a heady contrast with the pleasure of being touched there, a place none have touched but Petra herself in her most sinful, rebellious of moods, alone in the dark of her own room, thoughts of faceless women, of breasts and thighs and smooth, soft skin, of a secret she'll take to her grave rather than ever speak aloud. 

She sobs and moans, near unable to suck air into her lungs when the woman presses between her thighs with her mouth, when her tongue forces itself inside her, licking over her folds as if she were a cat savoring a bowl of fresh cream. She clutches at the woman, at--at this cat demon, unable to stop herself, not even wanting to, mindlessly thrusting her hips up, needing more more more. 

"Good girl," the woman purrs against her wet thigh when the deed is done and Petra's heart is calming back down her chest. She's wet with the effort, an absolute mess, her chest rising and falling as she pants, adrenaline coursing through her.

"What's your name?" Petra asks, her body and her voice so tired that the words nearly slur coming out of her mouth. 

The woman smiles against her skin and says, "Felicia," before she climbs back up Petra's body and kisses her all over again, devouring her mouth in a way that leaves Petra unable to breathe at all.

She wakes up in the morning, sun shining through the open curtains. She is naked and wet between her thighs, and the black cat with green eyes and fur soft like satin or silk is curled up next to her, her fur brushing up against Petra's breasts, a soft and warm comfort.

Petra pets her, running her hands down the cat's soft, small body, listening to her purr, perfectly content.

When she goes down to breakfast some while later, dressed in her riding outfit and with the cat in her arms, she hardly makes the bottom step before Lorna is squealing with joy, rushing over with delight. The girl runs a hand through the cat's soft fur, careful to keep her hands gentle and kind.

"What's it's name? Are we keeping it?" Lorna demands, trembling with excitement in her green dress.

"Yes," Wanda asks, coming into the room. "Are you going to really keep it?"

Petra looks at the cat, and she smiles.

"Her name is Felicia, and I rather think the choice is up to her."


End file.
